


The Whiteblack Tome

by Fa-Nuit-Hen (cliffracerx)



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Dark, Diary, Disturbing, Journal, Multi, Other, Sensitive themes, ayleid, obscure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffracerx/pseuds/Fa-Nuit-Hen
Summary: Dark and depraved ramblings and memoirs of Varsa Baalim's lost lord.





	The Whiteblack Tome

**_[These pages have been tucked away out of sight in other tomes scattered throughout Adonai's impromptu stacked library.]_**

* * *

 

He forgot. He left. Center left, Center shifted, and Center forgot.

Hurts hurts hurts so much. Hurts like _they_ hurt, but far worse. They hurt, flesh and bone, skin and sinew, but I hurt deeper. Hurts the heart, hurts the soul. He owned my soul. I did not own his. The shackles did.

I woke up when he hurt. I do that at times. I wake up, and I protect him. He needs to be protected. He is the mind, the intellect. But he does not like to hurt, so I protect him. I protect him and he forgets.

He remembers that they hurt him; hurt being the only hymn adequate for our ways. Flesh and bone, skin and sinew. He remembers the chain-beasts because they scarred him. Every divide in the skin is a sin. Left deep cuts, star-deep. He remembers because I cannot make him forget. But he does not remember everything, which is good. It would hurt if she remembered everything. He remembers the not feeling things. I let him remember that because he needs it. It makes him stronger.

I was on the road where the trees divided in two. He does not remember. I remember. I was on the road. I walked. I was walking, barefoot. The road was covered with sharp rocks. My feet hurt. Step, step, drip. A trail of blood behind me. It marks where I have been.

They were calling us. He tried to run. He cried. He does not cry, so I woke up. I woke up, and I walked on the road.

Step, step, drip.

They called us. They thought I was him. Blue eyes, red eyes. They thought I was him.

Step, step, _drip._

I walked. I walked west. West and west and west from Varsa Baalim, west until I went from gardens to forest. Gardens to forest. So little was different, yet so much was different. Woods and forest.

Step, step, drip drip.

I walked until the call said to go north. North along the road, until I came to the place with the little laughing men. Scamps do not care about screams.

They called me there, near that portal. They called me and made me go inside. Nenya and Rielle. Lovers. They thought I did not know. She did not know I knew. They called me, and they strapped me to the table. They bit. Over and over. She fed from my throat when he took----no. **I will _not_ write that down.** It hurt. It hurt so much. Wrists and ankles, throat and thighs. Flesh and bone, skin and sinew.

_**Pain.** _

Then she came there. She laughed at me, ridiculed at my cries. She said I was weak. Weak, so weak. I did not want to give Dagon the red drink from the slave and so mother did not want me. The _arpena_ sneered at me, too. She threw me away. Threw me away because I was weak, because I had emotions. Threw me away, because I was apparently more trouble than I was worth.

Mother threw me away.

I was her pet. Mother's disobedient pet. A child but a dog in her eyes. Too much trouble so she threw me away. So far, far away. Everything was different. I was not even as useful as the twisted flesh things in the gardens, so she threw me away.

She took my dead things from me, too. I took them back in her absence and sewed them up. The atronach, I made it piece by piece by piece. Stitched it together, each piece blessed by my love. A child of other bodies, flesh and blood and bone. Put this bone here, stitch that skin there, weave the sinews together. Bit by bit by bit like a puzzle. But when I was done, she took him away, and gave him a soul. Sweet, dark, tormented soul, but he was hers. Hers, and not mine. I made her pets for her. She made me her pet and I thought not of it. And she threw me away. I fell with all the other forgotten things that come at _wendir_ 's end.

Failure, I am failure. Call me Failure, for that is what I am.

The atronach was the first, the strongest. I made him for me. I lied to him, to Center. I did not make him for him. I made him for me. But he took him, so now I tell myself that I made him for her. It hurts less to believe that I gave, not that he took.

He was the best, and he proved it. He took me away, so far far away. I stood on the road. I remember. He remembers. The man in chains found him on the road and whisked him back to the Nefarivigum. I slept then, because she did not need me. He was happy as happy as she can be, as happy as she has ever been.

Then they called. He did not know. I would not let him remember. Sometimes they called often, sometimes only a few times. Over and over.

Step, step, _drip._

I walk the road for him. I walk the road for them _all_ , but with no chains.


End file.
